7. The Enemy
Chapter seven
The Enemy
The weeks blur into a monotonous cycle. Oberon appears at unpredictable intervals, two or three times a week, but it feels like an eternity between each visit. He always arrives with something new, a book, a lesson, or some instruction meant to push me. I have learned not to expect much else.
His presence is fleeting, his visits brief, and each departure leaves a hollow emptiness in the room, as though the walls themselves exhale in relief when he is gone.
I haven’t bothered asking him any more questions since the last time.
What is the point? His answers are always cryptic or evasive, always leaving me with more questions than when I started.
And besides, there is a rawness to it all now, too many words left unsaid that hang between us like an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge the tension that flares every time we are in the same space.
I don’t trust him, and I certainly don’t expect him to trust me. But still, there is an undeniable pull to him that I can’t shake.
Each time he leaves, I am left with a swirling mixture of frustration and something I refuse to recognize. And yet, I know he will return. It is always the same: the soft click of his boots on the floor, the cool press of his presence in the room, his voice sliding across my skin.
He never stays long, but when he does, it is as if the world outside ceases to exist, leaving only the two of us in this small cabin, tangled in silence and something else neither of us dares name.
And despite my resistance, he has even managed to teach me things.
My magic is growing stronger; there’s no doubt about it.
I can move objects with ease now, summon Fae light at will, and even light the hearth and candles with a flick of my fingers.
Simple things, nothing too extravagant. Still, it is progress.
The power hums beneath my skin, filling me with the sense of both fear and longing.
Nevertheless, I can’t yet access the full extent of it. That depth of power where my true abilities lie remains locked away. Oberon never seems to ask what my full abilities are. He either doesn’t care or already knows. Either way, I’m not about to offer up that information.
“Again,” Oberon says, his voice smooth and annoyingly patient.
“Come on, Lyra. Focus.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snap, the words tearing from my throat before I can stop them. My hands clench into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms, but I refuse to back down. Refuse to let him see just how much he is getting under my skin.
Oberon only smirks, that infuriating, lazy smirk that makes my blood boil.
“Then leave.” He gestures toward the door, knowing damn well I can’t.
“Oh, wait, you can’t.”
I take a sharp step forward, fury burning through me. “You arrogant, insufferable bastard.”
His smirk deepens. “You’ve said that before. I think you can do better.”
I step closer, pulse hammering in my throat. “You think you know me? That you have me all figured out?” My frame trembles with frustration. “You don’t. You never will. Asshole.”
Oberon exhales another soft chuckle, shaking his head as if he is actually amused by this. “You act like I’m the enemy here.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You are the enemy.”
Something flickers in his gaze, something I can’t place, but it is gone before I can make sense of it.
He pushes off the table and closes the space between us in one slow, deliberate step.
“I never claimed to be your savior, Lyra.” His voice drops lower, smoother.
“But I’m not your jailer, either. I’m not the worst thing that’s happened to you.
” He lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Even if you wish I were.”
I hate how calm he is. How he always manages to turn everything back on me.
I step closer, close enough to see the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes when I refuse to back down. “One day,” I swear, my voice shaking with the force of my rage, “I will get out of here. And when I do, I’ll make you regret every second you kept me here.”
Oberon tilts his head, considering me. “Now that,” he muses, “is something I’d actually love to see.”
My fury presses against the space around us.
The glass on the table trembles.
Neither of us notices at first, not until the sharp crack splits the air and the cup crashes to the ground, shattering into jagged shards.
I flinch at the sound. Oberon’s eyes flick down, then back up to me, brows raised.
Silence stretches between us.
He exhales slowly as he runs a hand down his face. “Well, that’s one way to make a point.”
I turn away sharply, kneeling down to pick up the shards, ignoring the tremor in my fingers. I don’t dare acknowledge what just happened.
Oberon crouches beside me, plucking up a piece of glass with infuriating patience. “You know,” he muses, “for someone who insists they have no power, you’re awfully good at breaking things.”
I shoot him a glare before snatching the remaining shards and throwing them into the bin. “Or maybe you just bring out the worst in people.”
He grins, slow and knowing. “Now that I’ll take credit for.”
I clench my jaw, swallowing down every curse I want to hurl at him. Neither of us acknowledges how the glass fell in the first place. But I feel it, low in my bones, the hum of something beneath my skin, something waiting, and I know, deep down, that it won’t stay hidden forever.